CAKE OR DEATH?
by webcomix
Summary: When it comes to England, there doesn't seem to be much of a difference between the two options. One-shot. Inspired by Eddie Izzard.


**A/N: I'm surprised that nobody has done this yet. Dress to Kill is awesome - wry stand-up comedy with European history/culture as the theme? Yes please. This is arguably one of the more well known and popular skits, though personally, I LOVE "Learning French."  
**

**Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
Dress to Kill belongs to Eddie Izzard.**

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They had no idea what was going on. After all, three hours ago, they'd just been sitting around, feeling bored. It was France's idea to go round to England's place to see whether they could pull any fun pranks on him. And when they got there, America had been ringing the doorbell. Luckily, Prussia managed to convince him to join up with them in their ambitions, and the four of them had been concocting a cunning plan before England had discovered them.

After shouting at them for ruining the organization of his shrubbery, England had herded the incorrigible group from their hiding place to inside the large mansion. Spain was mystified. Never before had he been first berated by the stuffy nation, and THEN invited in for tea. Actually, he didn't think he knew anybody who would do such a thing anyway. Well, he supposed, that person would be England.

So, England had seated the four of them around a small table in his parlour: Spain, Prussia, France and America. Just as they began to regain the power of speech, their host returned to the room, wheeling a small trolley with a platter of something that resembled a cracked rock slathered in mud. France's heart jolted horribly as he recognized what it was.

"YOU THERE! Cake or death?"

Spain started, blinking owlishly at the finger that was suddenly thrust into his face. "Uhh…cake, please."

The Brit glared down at him imperiously before bellowing his verdict.

"VERY WELL! Give him cake."

"Oh, thanks very much!" Spain gingerly accepted the slice and with a bit of difficulty, took a bite. He nodded fervently, knowing that those narrowed green eyes boring into his skull were waiting for a positive reaction. "Mmm, very nice."

England turned away, satisfied, and focused his stare upon the next victim.

"You! Cake or death?"

Prussia was the self-preserving type.

"Cake for me too, please."

"Very well. Give him cake too!" The silver-haired nation was silent and subdued for once as a plate was shoved into his hands. England ran his fingers through his own choppy ash blond cut. "We're going to run out of cake at this rate…you! Cake or death?"

France looked up distractedly. "Death, please." He suddenly sat up, alarmed at how he'd actually spoken his mind. "No, cake! Cake, cake, sorry…"

"You said death first! Aha! Death first!" England grinned maniacally, triumphantly pointing at the other country with his spatula. France shuddered at the burnt crumbs falling from its tip.

"No, I MEANT cake."

There was a pause as England weighed the options. "Oh, alright. You're lucky I'm such a gentleman," he huffed. Tossing another slab of "dessert" at his rival, England finally turned his attention to the last and youngest country present.

"Cake or death?"

"Uh, cake, please."

"Well, we're OUT of cake! I only had three bits and didn't expect such a rush." England rolled his eyes irritably, and America wondered whether he had actually been hoping to save a slice for himself. After all, England was the only person who willingly ate English food. He glanced over to the three bad friends seated adjacent to him – each one was carefully picking at their serving. Spain with slight confusion, Prussia with amazed incredulity, and France with pure loathing.

England tapped his foot impatiently. "So what do you want?"

"What? So my choice is 'or death'?"

England shrugged carelessly.

America took another moment to think. "I'll have the hamburger then, please."

The next few events happened altogether very quickly.

First, England threw down his spatula, growling menacingly whilst rolling up his sleeves. Then, America nimbly jumped up onto the armchair, showing off his well-tuned reflexes to a British tantrum while tracking mud onto the upholstery. This prompted the already enraged England to lunge at him. The pursued knocked over said armchair as he made good his escape, and the pursuer keenly gave chase, screaming obscenities.

Meanwhile, the three remaining European nations were still side by side on the couch, too startled to really react. Finally, Prussia spoke.

"Right!" He tossed the chunk of charred confection over his shoulder, not batting an eye as a faint tinkle of breaking china was heard. "We came here for a reason, so let's see what kind of awesome we can pull off!"

With that, he turned on his heel and strode into the depths of the house, ignoring the debris surrounding him. Spain quickly followed, rubbing his stomach. He was the only one dense enough to have consumed any of that…STUFF. France made a mental note: an exorcism might be due in a few hours. He stayed put, quietly listening to the noises of destruction faintly emanating from the other end of the estate.

He glanced down at the plate in his hands. The inedible block seemed to be slowly disintegrating into a pile of slime. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

_Gurblygurblygoooooooo_

France dropped the plate in horror, not even moving when the porcelain smashed around the tips of his boots. He waited a few more seconds in trepidation, but the glob lay quivering on the floor, silent once more. Crossing himself in fear, the nation took off after his friends, desperate to be far, far away from that place.

If England only knew what monsters he was capable of creating, the empire on which the sun never sets could rise once more…

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**A/N: I've noticed that when I don't know how to end a story, someone always invariably ends up walking away, leaving the other(s) confused and/or rendered speechless. Typically after some semi-violent tussle. I should learn to be more creative.**

**Also, a story about England creating a monster army out of food would be hilarious. But I won't write it. I suck at writing strategy. And fight stories are only fun if you can come up with deviously clever strategies. Case in point: Fullmetal Alchemist. Incredible. I don't even read FMA fanfic because the original story already satisfies everything I ever wanted from it.  
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